Dedicated: Return
by corneroffandom
Summary: After the Union Jacks gear is stolen, Heath wants some time to himself. Easier said than done, however.


The Union Jacks. It had been a random idea Heath Slater had when he'd spent too long staring at the icon he uses for Wade Barrett in his phone, the Brit standing in front of the flag and smirking with his arms crossed, a picture Heath had snuck in of him the last time they'd been overseas. So, upon their return tour of England, it had led him into convincing WWE seamstresses to put together the gear, Jinder and Drew agreeable with the entire situation when he'd suggested it to them, not minding their bandleader's idea. And damn, it had worked too. Though they had lost on Monday, they'd won on Wednesday, which was a bright spot in what had been a pretty dismal few months.

But then Friday had rolled around. Not only had they lost again, but R-Truth and the Prime Time Players had stolen their jackets, leaving them to come to after the loss to find more mocking jeers coming from the audience, and half of their gear lost. Heath winces and pinches his nose, staring out over the bustling town of Manchester as the moment he'd realized his jacket was gone replays in his head over and over again. "Ugh," he sighs, pressing his face against the cool surface of the building that he's been leaning against for... he's not sure how long by now, shuddering as chilly Britain wind batters his bare upper body, Heath not even taking the time to change before he'd needed to get away from the noise and bustle of the arena.

He sighs and slumps down the rough wall to sit against it, gritting his teeth as the chill bites into his back. His discomfort in this moment is meaningless as he stares into the darkness, relieved for the distance from mocking competitors and WWE crew members. He doesn't even look up when a door on the other side of the wall opens, snapping shut with a loud crack a moment later. He breathes heavily, his each exhale misting in front of his face in an icy cloud, swallowing when someone sits down heavily next to him on the frigid concrete. Still ignoring everything going on around him, he hugs his knees to his chest and rests his chin on his fist, closing his eyes.

Not a word is spoken as Heath tries to focus on anything but the piercing stare that's locked on the side of his face, his rampant thoughts and memories still pingponging around at a terrible speed. He doesn't even move when something heavy is dropped over his legs, soft fabric brushing against his arms. A few moments pass until a second item is draped over his shoulders, protecting him from some of the elements. He still doesn't move, though his eyes flicker open a few inches. Barely a minute has passed when there's a grumpy huff next to him and something is thrown over his head, stifling him under its fabric. He flails, startled, and knocks all three articles off of him, whipping his head back and forth until he realizes. "Brit!" he complains, brushing his fingers through his hair in agitation, about to lay into the other man, when- his eyes fall upon what had blanketed him minutes earlier, gasping. "Wait, how did these get here?" he mutters, resting his hands on the three jackets before turning once more to look at Wade. "You found 'em?"

"Last I checked," he says simply, glancing over at Heath with a slight smirk. "Might want to get them off of the ground before they're too grimy." As Heath scrambles, doing just that, he chuckles and stands, reaching out a hand to the other man. "Come on." Heath looks up and slowly takes his hand, pulling himself to his feet. "Git," he mutters, pulling the sweater he has on over his head and transferring it onto the ginger, roughly massaging his arms to get more warmth into his flesh. "What the hell were you thinking, Ginger? Sitting out here in the dark, when it's so cold, with no shirt on? You'd think you'd never been in England before." He shakes his head and tugs him closer, wrapping his arms around him.

Heath shrugs against him and sighs, trailing his fingers over the soft lining of the jackets. "It was quiet out here. I just wanted to have some space away from the others laughin' and mockin'..."

Wade shakes his head. "Since when has that ever mattered to you in the past, Slater?" He shrugs again but Barrett grips his jaw, forcing him to look up at him. "Tell me."

"I just... thought Wednesday was a turnin' point. Tonight proved I was wrong," he admits grimly. "We still have little luck when it comes to winnin' matches, and now they're stealin' our gear, 'n'... I just needed some time to myself."

"Understandable, but freezing yourself to death won't do anyone any good." He sighs and kisses Heath lazily, frowning at just how cold he still feels. "Either way, I know you. You'll dust yourself off and try again, you always have. But there'll be none of that out here, so come with me. Let's go inside, we'll get you warmed up, and figure out what to do from there." Heath still hesitates and Wade brushes his fingers over the other man's knuckles. "Heath. If anyone gives you grief, I'll gleefully deliver some bad news to them, but we have to go inside now."

Heath sighs and hugs the jackets close to his chest, nodding faintly. "Fine, let's go." Wade nods and rests his hands on Heath's shoulders, directing him into the arena. "And Wade?"

"Mm hmm?"

"Thanks. For... givin' me a reason to keep fightin' and bringin' the jackets back to me and... everything..." He looks back at him and grins, Wade's eyes softening as he offers Heath a rare, sincere smile in return.


End file.
